December 2011
2 posts
2 tags
Untitled 2
We talk like poetry
But our voices hold no meaning.
And our faces fade into the text.
“How are you feeling?”
But we talk like poetry.
So you say.
You never say much.
We talk of meaning
in poetry of all things
Where voices hold meaning
So we think
“How are you feeling?”
“ça va”
So you say
As if French may mean more.
I want to find meaning
by...
2 tags
Untitled 1
Sometimes you sigh for no specific reason. A breath dances on the chilled air and your eyes follow it until the sigh slowly evaporates. It lingers for a moment to materialize, and then disappears. For no specific reason, it disappears. Then, your lips meet the cigarette and you inhale your suicide, not because you wish to die, but because you can. It doesn’t make sense to you, does it?
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